


Overture

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 03:32:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17216219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Lindir visits his favourite bookstore.





	Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The little bell above the door rings to herald his entrance, and it sets something off inside Lindir’s chest—a warmth that comes from familiarity and the association of it: whenever he hears a bell like that, he thinks of _here_. The bookshop is a toasty oven inside, a pleasant relief from the chilly snow-laden land beyond, and it smells of old paper and roasting coffee. Everything about it fits Lindir’s definition of _home_. He even loves how cramped and overstuffed it is, jam packed with shelves and volumes of every age and genre, but meticulously arranged. It’s kept neat and tidy, organized by type and author, easy to drown in. Lindir drifts towards the front desk and fights to keep his inner joy to a reasonable smile. The owner glances up at him and smiles affectionately back. At least, Lindir thinks there’s affection in those deep grey eyes. It does things to his head.

With some effort, Lindir continues past the counter. He can’t just stay and stand there, as he’d like to, gazing longingly at the gorgeous man that runs the place—the last thing he wants to do is be banned from this little haven. He wanders towards the back, hesitating near the romance section, then chickens out as usual, and instead crosses over to the fantasy area. He doesn’t need Elrond knowing how lonely and depraved he really is, and how low his tastes can dip when it comes to cheesy, trashy erotica. He does enjoy the fantasy section too. He particularly enjoys the ones still focused on elves, but of days long past, when elves like Elrond would be kings and Lindir perhaps an assistant or housemaid, with that little illogical twist like trained dragons at their doorstep. Lindir’s daydreams often follow a similar note—whimsical and unrealistically perfect.

Lindir’s only there for a few minutes before he hears the telltale footsteps. No one else seems to be in the shop at the moment—it never is very busy—and he would know Elrond’s gait anywhere. A little taller, a little broader, older and wiser and painfully sophisticated, Elrond appears beside him. Elrond politely asks, “Might I help you with anything today, Lindir?”

Lindir dons another glowing smile that’s probably dimpling his cheeks. Even if he didn’t so enjoy reading long forgotten tales, he’d come here for this alone: the alluring company of a man wholly out of his league. Today Elrond smells of fresh pine—Lindir can just imagine him out amongst the trees, enjoying a quiet stroll through nature like the thoughtful Elven lords of stories past.

Lindir asks, as he’s done almost every time he’s been in here, “What would you recommend?”

A small, deep chuckle slips out of Elrond’s throat. He shakes his head, his dark hair dancing across his shoulders, as long and straight as Lindir’s. “I don’t think so, not this time. Why don’t you tell me what you would like to read yourself, and I will help you find it.”

Despite the kind wording and the typical gentleness of Elrond’s voice, Lindir’s smile wanes. He doesn’t understand. “May I ask why not...?”

“You may, and I will tell you: it’s because I’ve noticed a trend. Whenever I suggest something to you, you have bought it, though I’m sure I can’t have hit the mark every time. I seem to have quite the persuasive power over you, my dear Lindir, and I wouldn’t want to misuse that and force a sale.” 

Already, Lindir can feel his cheeks heating. Now that Lindir’s become such a regular, it isn’t entirely unusual for Elrond to refer to him in such a way, but hearing the words ‘my’ and ‘dear’ come out of Elrond’s mouth still gives him a thrill. What he wouldn’t give for that to mean more than a friendly greeting. It takes a few seconds for Lindir to process that pleasure and return to the conversation, where he protests: “But you have hit the mark every time—I’ve thoroughly enjoyed everything you’ve recommended me.” And, more so, he enjoys coming back and discussing those books with Elrond: an excuse to loiter longer and expand their conversations. Elrond always has such interesting insights, and he’s very encouraging of Lindir’s own thoughts. But of course, Elrond couldn’t possibly know how much Lindir values those little moments. He insists, “Forgive me, but I rather love your taste.”

Elrond’s smile is genuine and warm. But he stands firm and asks, “What sort of thing would _you_ like to read today?”

For a long moment, Lindir flounders. He feels lost without Elrond’s guidance, and a little sad for it—he _likes_ metaphorically following Elrond about, even if it might be a tad unhealthy. Eventually, he comes aware that he’s taken too long to answer, and then just blurts out, “A romance.” 

Elrond lifts a brow. It’s understandable, because Lindir’s never bought one here before, but when Elrond speaks, his voice is completely devoid of judgment. Granted, Lindir’s always known he’s a bit paranoid and poor with determining social expectations. “I have quite a fair number of those. Could you narrow it down a bit more?”

Again, Lindir fumbles. Then the words just come pouring out of him, his control shot, as it often is around this one man of his dreams.

“Well, I’d prefer a... a homosexual one, if you have those... ah... perhaps something with a bit of an age difference? A younger man with an older one—b-but not as a kink, or anything like that, just that they happen to be perfect for one another, and the younger man is often told he thinks older anyway, and the two of them just have a... a humble, gentle sort of start... nothing violent or too extreme, although I wouldn’t mind something, ah... passionate... elves, preferably, although I wouldn’t mind if one had some mortal blood in them... maybe one of them is well established and owns a business, and the other frequents it and develops a hefty crush, and... oh dear... I’m being too specific, aren’t I? Ah, any story will do, really...” He starts to trail off, wishing he could take every word back, swallow them up and hide the key. Elrond’s expression has gradually changed throughout Lindir’s rambling, but not into anything unpleasant.

He answers slowly, “I’m afraid I can’t think of one quite like that off the top of my head.” Lindir inexplicably wilts at the mere semblance of a rejection, even though he knew perfectly well a book like that didn’t exist. “However, since you seem to so enjoy my suggestions... perhaps I could recommend a good coffee place?”

Freezing, Lindir numbly asks, “Which one?”

“Well... the trouble is, if I simply tell you, you’ll go spend your money there, and I am trying not to sway you into emptying your wallet anymore...”

At first, Lindir’s dumbstruck, and then he hesitantly tries, “Perhaps, ah... you could show me, and... treat me...? Then I wouldn’t be spending money...” He’s horribly embarrassed to ask. The thought of suggesting someone else spend money on him is mortifying. But he thinks that’s how he’s supposed to play along, and if Elrond is suggesting that, of course Lindir _wants it_...

Elrond tells him, “That sounds like a lovely idea.”

Lindir’s insides are singing. He doesn’t want to leave this moment in case it turns out he actually fell, hit his head on a bookshelf, and dreamed the whole thing. Unwilling to wait, he dares to ask, “What time are you off today?”

“Estel should replace me in another twenty minutes or so, actually. It would probably take you that long to find the book you’re looking for, although I wouldn’t wish to hold you up...”

“Twenty minutes amongst books sounds delightful.”

Something seems to twinkle in Elrond’s eyes, like he’s realizing what Lindir’s known all along: they’re definitely soul mates. 

While Lindir stands there beaming, Elrond shifts to the shelf on his left, plucking out a particularly thick book that looks some odd thirty years old. He presses it into Lindir’s hands and offers, “I’ll break my own rule and recommend this, though I insist you take it on the house. It isn’t quite the wonderful story you painted, but it does feature a forbidden romance between a tired Elven lord and his handsome minstrel. If you should tire of looking elsewhere, I’d at least like you to have something to read.”

Normally, Lindir would protest at the sudden gift, but he’s too wooed in the moment to do anything but gratefully accept the present and profess a meaningful, “Thank you.”

Elrond smiles. Then he nods his leave and turns, heading back towards his desk. 

Lindir clutches his new book to his chest and tries hard not to swoon onto the floor.


End file.
